Happiness of a Marionette
by LovelyJovely
Summary: What is happiness? A raw, joyous emotion that comes from the heart? In the souless eyes of a puppet, it is but a mere sigh of trickery, used to hide away from the horrible reality in which he was born from. "You will be happy," She told him, "Forever."


I am a puppet.

No, I do not sit upon the lap of my master with dangly limbs and attune my mouth to his finicky words. It's a shame that the slight drawing of a puppet's jaw in harmony with those meaningless noises trick the foolish into thinking that it can talk, though its body was made to not utter a sound. No, I am not bound by strings knotted tightly to my clunky wrists and ankles, which force my lifeless body to flail and flop in some disgraceful manner they call dance whenever the hand of my master tugs and pull on those strings. It's a shame that the simple pulling of meaningless thread trick the foolish into believing that puppets can dance, though their pathetic and pitiful bodies aren't able to move an inch on their own.

I am not like these puppets, but I may as well be.

I was made for a specific purpose_._ A precise reason._ 'To please my special guest,'_ my master had said, threading my incomplete fingertips with string and sawdust. _'You are going to be her friend.' _

A friend. I had never had one of those in my short excuse of an existence. I wasn't even sure what a friend was, let alone know how to be one. But I nodded silently- I had no voice- and watched as she slipped on an odd-looking glove onto my now-finished hand. My master stepped back and examined me thoroughly with keen eyes. Sometimes I wondered if she saw different than I; our eyes, buttons, were the same in almost every way. Yet she looks and gazes at everything as if she can see something I can't. As if she can see something I will never be able to know.

'_Hmm… not exactly what I had in mind…,' _my master mused, circling me,_ 'I wouldn't call it an exact replica… but it'll do…' _I looked down at the clothes I was wearing. They can't be that bad, right? I like them; they're comfortable. But then I realized that she wasn't talking about my clothes; she was talking about _me_. Her scowl was very apparent as she eyed my face, my arms, my legs. I felt like a failure. Something that my master had high expectations for and I failed her. I ducked my head low out of shame, only for the rough grasp of her hands to jolt my face upwards. _'Listen,'_ she began in a dark tone of voice; a voice that truly reminded me who she really was: a monster, _'You don't dare stop smiling, you hear me? You will be happy around and pleasant around our guest, so that she may be happy. Got it?' _Her hands dug deeper into my artificial skin to the point that I felt the sawdust leak out of one cheek, where a small gash like a half-moon had been created. I instinctively raised my hand protect my small wound, but the master had slapped my hand away and peered closer at it. It began to burn, my gash, the more she stared. It was like darkness and sin that had loomed into her black buttons had plagued my cut with something too pathetic to be named pain. I guess it was kind of ironic though; pathetic pain for a pathetic puppet.

Yes, I was very aware that I was not made to be loved and cared for. I was not made to play and laugh and truly be happy. As I said, I was made for a specific purpose; not only to 'please her special guest,' but also to be her puppet. Her little marionette. So that she may play and toy with my body to do her bidding, and when she grows weary of me, will throw me out. Just like every other child whose favorite toy has soon lost their interest. Like those doleful toys, I too am as lifeless as a broken dream of a lost child, only to be supported by the sinful fingers that plant sorrow and contempt.

'_And if dare to frown, to show some other emotion besides happiness… I will make sure you regret your pitiful existence into this world'_ my master threatened, grabbing a spool of thread and threading her needle through my gash with ire. It hurt, but I could only imagine what it would feel like if I disobeyed her orders, so I took the pain and stayed still. She brushed off remaining pieces of sawdust off of my cheek, and then took a small step back. My master twisted her unpleasant face into a smile. A smile so sweet and sugary that it knotted anger and sickness into one disgusting lump in my body. My master was horrible; she was tricky and sneaky and surreptitious. She covered her evil intentions with a sickly sweet fondant that made even the most knowledgeable creatures lured into her presence. It was only when you discovered the wicked soul of her ugly being that you could not escape. You were already dead as soon as the black ivory of the button touched the whites of your innocent eyes. This 'special' guest was most likely her dinner – she hasn't had a good meal in a while, and she was hungry. Yet another disgusting aspect of my master; she feasted on the flesh and bones of humans. Humans who lived freely and happily and weren't made to live life under someone's unforgiving hand.

Humans who weren't meant to be like me, yet they received a fate much harsher than mine. I instantly felt sorrow for the human who had made the horrible mistake by crawling into this dreaded world.

My master's face lit up, _'She's here.'_

I felt myself shiver. I could already feel the pain that she would soon feel, when she discovered that there was no way out. But I would have to do as my master says, to smile and be her friend. To be "happy" until she is devoured like all the other children here.

She was beautiful, this girl who wandered here. Her hair was a color I could not name – a new color that stood out amongst the shades of grey that this world was toned in, and it dazzled something so electric and brilliant that I could not stop staring at such a sight. Her cheeks dared to blossom a soft blush that was the color of pink and glowed against her pale skin. Freckles dotted along her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, and were the same color as her eyes: chestnut brown.

When I first met her, she seemed pleased that I could not talk – a mystery I will probably never understand – and called me the 'Other Wybie.' I wasn't even aware that I had name, let alone be an 'other.' Apparently, there was a Wybie in her true world who looked just like me, except he was annoying and odd and couldn't stop talking. I was the exact opposite of him, so that the girl would be happy. It was the exact reason why I was created. Why I was born. Despite this unnerving fact, I plastered on a smile and took her hand, taking her to explore this horrid world, when, in her ignorant eyes, was a dream come true. I took her to see the 'other' Ms. Spink and Forcible, another pair of puppets whom I have seen in their earlier stages, when they were mutant and deformed and had not been sewn on a head yet. They were disgusting, yet they now looked like a pair of beautiful acrobats, swinging and twirling, all while the girl clutched onto my arm in excitement. For a moment, just a tiny flash of the moment, I let myself feel horrible and let my smile deflate. It saddened me to even think that this girl, who sat in her theater seat with happiness and joy, would soon weep over her real mother, her real father, wishing that she had never entered this world. Maybe she would weep over the real Wybie too, completely forgetting about my miserable existence. I wouldn't be surprised, though, because I was made to be a doppelganger of someone she once knew. I quickly dismissed the thought and forced myself to smile again, because my master might be watching. The girl turned to me and gave me the biggest smile, right before the two marionettes lifted her from her seat, lifting her up into the fresh theatre air as they swung her around and flipped her and twirled her with grace and merriment. She screamed happiness and laughed, joy engulfing her body. I have to say – I was a bit jealous. Her smile and happiness were authentic and true, while mine were just a trick, just an illusion that I had to create to save myself from the pain and torture of my master. It meant nothing to me whatsoever. But seeing this girl, the girl who had treated me like I was someone, made me feel worth living. Not just some marionette whose actions are determined by an almighty hand.

But… it made me even more unhappy, because I knew the only person who acknowledged my presence… would soon be nothing more than the dejected soul of her body, her memories serving as the only thing to hold onto to retain some thought of your true home, until they slip from your translucent grasp and leave you with the cold air that makes you shiver, but reminds yourself that you are still there. Still alive, but not truly.  
>And I can't help her. I can't try and save her from her horrible fate. I can only smile, hiding my pity, frustration, anger, and sadness under a feeble veneer called happiness. It's a shame that I have to fool her into trusting me, though I am made to be the one who watched as she was destroyed.<p>

* * *

><p>I have made a mistake.<p>

A horrible, yet utterly inevitable mistake

I have stopped smiling.

And now, my mistake will cost me my dignity; as if I ever had one.

The master is furious now: I disobeyed her orders, and the girl knows the true ugliness of this world. She knows of the fate she will receive, and knows of the vile way she will be trashed when her body has been completely consumed. She and I… are both alike for once. We both know of how we've been used just to get what the master desires. And now the master is fuming with rage, because she knows her delicious meal will try and escape from her suffocating grip.

I dug deep my hands into the stomach of her kitchen drawers, trying to fish out something, anything, to cover my face, to hide away the shame I have been beaten with. I have little time left as I count each second and make use of it. I have decided that I will help this girl, whatever means necessary. Because if I'm going to die, I would like that girl to live. To go back to her humble home and life the rest of her life as she should: with happiness. I, sadly, have never been given the chance to be happy and joyful and pleasant, and I don't want hers to be taken away.  
>In some odd, dryly comical way, I was <em>almost<em> pleased that I was a puppet. Because if I weren't, then my master would have watched me with keen eyes and discovered my not-so perfect plan. Instead, she believed me to be dumb and thoughtless, and so let me wander around wherever I wanted, as long as I obeyed her orders. Almost pleased, but not quite.

Sometimes, I fool myself into believing that a greater being really created the body that I dwell in. That maybe someone created the wretched, pitiful puppet that is me, to save the precious life of another. So that when I die, unlike my birth, it will be noble and victorious. Maybe even… happy.

I pulled my hand free from the useless clutter in her drawers and found an oven mitten in the form of a chicken, the same mitten that my master had worn when the girl first got here. I had taken a loose thread that was hanging from the beak and wrapped it tightly around my face until it was almost suffocating and I ran. Past the door, past the kitchen, past the dining room. I ran down the long hallway and came across what I was looking for. It was a beautiful piece of glass that retained the reflection of the hallway in its midst, so that it seemed that the hallway was longer when you looked at it. It was large and adorned with a beautiful border that was sculpted into a work of art, but the _thing _in the glass was ugly. Hideous, as I lifted my arm to my forehead and saw the creature mimicking my action. The creature was also wearing a dingy mitten around its face, like me, but still showed the stitches that peeked from the skin where the mitten was not long enough to hide them. It was messy and vulnerable, slouching over and shaking in the knees. It looked scared and frightened and hid his face away from me when I turned away and did not want to look at it anymore.

It took a lot of trickery to fool myself into thinking that the creature in the mirror wasn't me.

I clasped my hands together because they were shaking, and took a long, slow breathe of air as if it could help me regain my composure. Really, it just calmed down what little nerve I had left in me. Not to mention the fact that I had no lungs. I slowly turned around and, without looking into the mirror, flew my hands like bullets straight towards the glass. I was not looking to break it though; this mirror is where she hid her supper when it wasn't behaving properly. I remember watching secretly as my master threw the innocent girl at the mirror like a rocket and was waiting for shattering sound of glass as it broke and cut her body. But I looked up and saw that she was ingested into the mirror like jelly, and watched as the master pulled her arms out and walked away as if nothing happened.

Like I had predicted, my forearms dove into the glass as if it were some thin, watery material. Doing so, the mirror was not a mirror anymore but instead faded into a crystalline picture hidden behind clear glass. Behind the glass, I saw the girl and her recognizable head of colorful wonder. But, even from the view of her backside, she looked disheveled, and weak. Relieved that she was still alive- even if in such a feeble state, I instantly grabbed at her, wrapping my fingers around her waist. It took some effort to pull her out- she was thrashing around so much- but I did it. And even when she threw me against the wall, I was reassured that maybe, just maybe, my plan might work. The girl finally tossed me to the ground and, almost painlessly, ripped off my mask and saw my true face. In her plain sight, the shame and disgrace that branded my face with its hot iron was almost too much to bear. It was suffocating me as a gasp of horror left the girl's lips. I buried my face in my hands and turned away. But the girl… the girl removed my hands with gentleness and looked at me with eyes that sung a sorrowful song, a song that filled me with its flowing melody. A melody that was far too gloomy and depressing to be considered a song… but instead a requiem. A requiem of a soul now forgotten.

"Did she do this to you?" She asked me, the requiem stopping abruptly and her eyes becoming sharp again. I just looked at her, sending her a silent yes, and watched as she grabbed onto the thread that was woven into my mouth, barring me a wretched smile, and pulled it out. A sigh of relief swept over me, and I adjusted my jaw.

"I hope that feels better." She told me, but I put a finger up to my lip and shushed her. The master… the master will know she has escaped the mirror, and will come before I can do anything. I quickly got up and grabbed onto her hand. Running with her behind me, I went to the living room where the entrance she came out from was barricaded by a large closet that looked like a nasty bug. I could have never been able to push it down alone, but the girl stood aside me and shoved the closet to the ground. What lay in front of was the door. It still refracted the light in its pearly white base of paint, and still had the golden doorknob that was as reflective as my master's horrid mirror. It was the door that started all of the madness.

And it would be the door to end it also.

"Coraline, is that you?" My master called out in such an alarming way that I went cold for just a fraction of a second. And I could tell that the girl did too. She looked at me once again, but now her eyes preached a different song. A song of many tunes that was sharp and fast and a bit unsettling to your nerves, but was traced with the simple tune of hope.  
>"Let's go!" She said to me, and I opened the door. What was inside was a startling surprise to the girl, whose eyes went wide at such a sight. The tunnel she had entered through had been marvelous and adorned with beautiful shades of blue and purple and green that had glowed around her, but it was now just a dirty, cracked, covered in cobwebs tunnel. It was no surprise to me; I had known all the little secrets of this world, no matter who gruesome they were. This was one of them, but seeing her face in such dismay had caused that cold feeling once again.<p>

"Coraline!" My master yelled again, in a much more disturbing manner that made the foundation of the tunnel shake. The girl turned to me and grabbed my hand, shaking it.

"Come on, "she insisted, "she'll hurt you again!"

Little did she know that I was made to get hurt. Made to feel pain aching in every patch of my body. Made to be played and used with for a short time… only to be thrown out once my time is finished.

I looked back at her and slowly shook my head. '_Why? '_I could hear her say in her mind.

So to show her how worthless I was, I took of my mitten and blew onto my hand. As the flesh of my fingers crumbled into little bits of sands, I watched her horrified face. She now understood that I was so unimportant that my master didn't even take the time to make me properly. Her eyes were quite.

"Coraline!" My master's voice became louder, and closer. We didn't have any time left. "How dare you disobey your mother!" Before the girl could testify, I looked at her one last time and she at me. I wish I could talk and tell her something, anything, that would be of some comfort to her, but I couldn't. So I told her with my actions. With the outspread palm of my good hand, I pushed the flesh of her back, flesh I was not able to have, and watch as she tumbled onto the other side of the door, the escape I have never been able to reach. I closed the door, and pushed myself up against it. I could feel her fists ramming against the door, and then nothing. "Coraline!" My master boomed, and she came into view. She looked more horrible than ever before, and her face twisted into raw anger upon seeing my disheveled body propped up against the little entrance like a doll. Slowly, step by step, she came closer until her shadow, black with the lust of evil, drew over me like the plague. "You…" she seethed, "insignificant rat! How dare you disobey your orders you worthless puppet!" She spat at me, and I watched her with such a detachment that I had felt no fear or terror. In fact, I had felt nothing at all. No sooner was she in front of me, and clawing at my skin with her dreaded needle-like fingers. Sawdust spilled out of my wounds like blood, and it was pure misery, pure torture. The pain was unbearable, ripping my limbs with such fuming wrath and rage. She opened me up like a stuffed doll and destroyed me in the slowest, most painful way possible.

But… it was all worth it. I had done what I wanted to do. I was a "somebody" in that girl's eyes, even if just for an instant. So even if I did feel pain oozing from every opened gash and every bent limb, it was one of the best moments of my life.

Because it was the only time I had truly smiled.

And it was the only time where I thought that _this_ was truly happiness.

**HERP DERP I WAS SO BORED :D  
>Little did Other Wybie know that Coraline had to come back and face the Other Mother again to win back her parents. Oh Other Wybie, your efforts were for NOTHING. XD<strong>

**Pretty long one-shot, if you ask me :) I got the title from a song, which inspired me to write about this.**

**Review!**


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